The Talking Heads
Author: Shiloh


The Talking Heads get to me
too easily any more.
Every damn night,
All I hear is the voices of the Talking Heads
On television,
Telling everyone that they know
What is wrong,
What is not right,
And what they would do to fix things.
They sure can talk the talk,
But not one damn of of them
Even tries to walk the walk.
What pisses me off more
Is the fact that they sit there,
Like a bunch of Talking Heads,
Getting paid the big bucks
To do just that,
And people watch them
And listen to them
As if they actually know
What the hell they are talking about.
They don’t,- but they smugly think they do.
They are in groups around tables in a studio,
Or alone in front of a camera reading their script,
And they do it so very well
That I am truly amazed that everything wrong
Hasn’t long been corrected and fixed by now.
These Talking Heads are actors;
That is all they are – just actors,
Playing a part, reading their lines,
And those who watch them
And listen to them with dedicated ears
Are as foolish as those who gather
To bolster each other’s personal vanity,
As if giving justification for the stupidity
Of the mouthings of the Talking Heads.
Like the demons who claim to be
Religious leaders of the masses,
Who hold forth from pulpits in grandoise churchs
Yet do not do for those who suffer,
The Talking Heads are the same.
They say the words that help them
Take from the people their money
And their dignity
And they smile as they pile up
So many collections of varieties
Of the original 30 pieces of silver.
They do not care about you,
Or anyone.
They care only for their own vanity
And for what they can get
From the life and the lies they live.
Like sheep,
The masses follow them,
And give up offerings to them,
Seekng some twisted source of happiness,
Of peace,
Of redemption,
But in vain…. all in vain.
The charlatans are winning.
Honesty is old, forgotten and thrown down
By the wayside.


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